WITH his razor-sharp, incisive wit and volcanic rage, Hannibal Lecter has become engrained as one of cinema's most fascinating and fearsome boogiemen.

Anthony Hopkins's Oscar-winning portrayal of the brilliant yet deadly killer in The Silence of the Lambs immortalised the character in the collective consciousness, whispering the immortal lines: "A census taker once tried to test me.

"I ate his liver with some fava beans... and a nice chianti."

The subsequent, inferior films Hannibal and Red Dragon, have diluted Lecter's mystique, turning him into a camp pantomime villain.

Now, he is reborn in this blood-soaked and sporadically gory prequel to Red Dragon, which traces the origins of the character's savagery and suffering back to a series of horrific incidents in his childhood.

The entrails spill forth - so too do yawns and unintentional laughs as author Thomas Harris adapts his own hugely disappointing novel for the big screen.

As the Second World War rumbles on in eastern Europe, Hannibal's parents flee their home for a secluded cottage in the forest, taking their young son (Thomas) and his baby sister Mischa with them.

When his parents die in a violent altercation, Hannibal takes care of Mischa, but they soon suffer at the hands of five mercenaries.